“A few weeks ago?”
“That obvious?” She took a deep breath. “He never wanted me there to begin with. I have no clue why he invited me.” Chase lined up all the events that had brought Tourn into her life. And then she found herself reliving them. Aloud. “Sixteen years after the Philippines bombing, a jackass journalist paid for the name of the pilot who dropped the bomb. I didn’t know who my dad was until I saw him on TV making that speech.” She glanced at Tristan. He nodded slowly, proving he knew what she was talking about.
“I’m proud to have served my country so profoundly,” Tourn had said, seeming the best sort of steely-eyed. Maybe Chase should have thought that he was a monster like everyone else, but she already had one of those beside her, puffing like an industry smokestack.
“Janice fell off the couch when she saw him. Burned a hole in the rug with her cigarette.”
“Janice?”
“My mom. She told me to write to him. She wanted money, and she could see all the shiny stars on his uniform.” Chase shrugged. “I told him I wanted to be a pilot, so he hijacked my dream. Drilled me all summer like he was going to help me get into the military, and then he returned me when I failed.”
She took a deep breath that filled places she hadn’t known were empty. “So that’s my insignificant tragedy. I didn’t want to risk Pippin’s life yesterday. I just sometimes have…blind spots.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I know how to be better.”
But first she had to stop talking. Why was it so hard? She reached for the side of her head at the same time that Tristan did. Their fingers met over the knot on her skull. It wasn’t electric to touch Tristan. Not in the slightest. It was worse—it was welcome. She fought the urge to lean into his shoulder and rest.
“I’m sorry about knocking you out,” he said. “I tried not to mangle your face.”
“It’s too bad. You would have scored points with Sylph for uglying me up.”
“Sylph scares the crap out of me. Frightens Romeo too, although he’s still interested. Nothing more terrifying-slash-tantalizing than an Amazonian blonde.”
“Sylph would be delighted to hear that. Riot calls her Jet Fighter Barbie.”
“That’s kind of perfect. What about you?”
She rubbed the toes of her boots together. “Riot calls me more unpleasant names.”
He tried to cover, which was kind of sweet. “But there’s nothing plastic about you. Nothing predictable. Makes you a fearsome pilot. You do realize you’re like a living legend to some of these people.”
Oh, so they were going to exchange flirty compliments now. Chase bit back her smile and felt a door open in that moment, something between them that had its own breeze. “Because I’m so legendary, tell me what happened before we raced. When you fell behind.” Tristan looked away, but she kept going. “You’re not flying like yourself. I might not have watched tapes of your style, but I’ve seen enough to know you have a natural tilt to your wings.”
“It wastes fuel,” he said automatically.
“It’s you. Don’t fight how you fly.”
“Is that a piece of your wisdom?”
“That’s the whole cake, Tristan,” she said. He held off a laugh, and she wanted to ask why. “Is it nerves? Are you remembering JAFA up there?”
“Yes…but I’m getting a hold on it. It won’t throw me off again. I think.”
“You should chase a ghost. That’s what I do,” she said. “Although, I shouldn’t call him a ghost because he isn’t dead. Not yet.” The ease with which her father came up shocked her into continuing. “Kale says I fly like Tourn.” She shook her head. “Christ, I have no idea why I tell you things. I swear I leak truth around you.”
“I’m a third party. It’s easier to talk to people who are on the outside.”
“Maybe.” She looked down Phoenix’s narrow engine bay. It reminded her of Crackers’s heart circle or trust circle or whatever the woman had called it. Chase still wondered how they could be interchangeable. Love was one thing—a fluffy Easter bunny sort of thing—but trust was real and rare, and she believed in it. Did she trust Tristan? Could she? She barely knew him.
The question reminded her that she had one more confession. “I also wanted to apologize for kissing you in the locker room the other day. I wasn’t making a play.”
He finger-combed his hair back, and the shorter pieces broke free, brushing his cheeks. “I get that you wanted to surprise me. And you did that much.”
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Especially with everyone saying that we’re…that I’m going after you.” God, this was a terrible topic.
“Who is everyone exactly?”
“Riot,” she started. “Sylph and Pippin. Kale…all the cadets who saw us spar.”
“That really is everyone.”
“You’re the one who rolled on top of me for like ten minutes.” Her ears warmed as she remembered what it had been like to be under him, his breath wild on her neck. She held her hands over her cheeks, trying to block his view of her flush. A little late, she got the impression he was reading her body language negatively.
“I’m under no illusions, Chase. I suspect that’s why you don’t like me.”
She stared at his eyes. Flame blue and so steady. “I never said I didn’t like you.”
“Is this what you do to someone you like?” He pulled up his shirt and showed off his stomach. Beyond being ripped, it was covered with purple bruises.
“Whoa. Sorry.”
He dropped his shirt but held her eyes. “Do you know what helped me get my nerves in check in the air the other day?” he asked in a low voice. “Chasing you.”
“I am aptly named.”